


Visitation Rights

by betaadamantium



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Minor Violence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betaadamantium/pseuds/betaadamantium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of Heart's Blood universe, where Daken survived Itsu's death. Teva decides she needs to gauge how much of a threat Daken is to her family and to the rest of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitation Rights

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this back in 2011, after Deceptive Memory but before Cheat on Death. I left Daken out of that AU because I think he's a stupid, pointless character, (and don't get me started on Romulus) but then I started thinking: How would Teva react to him and his antics?
> 
> I dug this out of my GoogleDocs and finished it, and things went... way more pear-shaped than I'd originally planned. Sometimes the characters just decide to do things on their own.
> 
> Much love to [KirianaStarfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirianaStarfire) for the title; I suck at titles, I hate them with a fiery passion that puts nukes to shame. It's a reference to Daken asking Teva if he should call her Stepmother.
> 
> Warning: beginnings of non-con/rape, but it doesn't go all the way through.

Teva has never hated anyone before in her life, not even Sabretooth, but she thinks she's finally found someone who could take that prize. In fact, she hates him so much she's taken the time to track him down and show him just how much she does.  
  
She finds him in Milan.  
  
It isn't terribly difficult, really. The man abhors anything that isn't upper-class: only the best for him in apartments, dining, and clothing. God only knows where he gets the money for his expensive lifestyle (and no, she really, really does not want to know).  
  
She watches him for a few days, gets a sense of a pattern in his movements, and it seems right now he’s seeing a woman. More often than not they end up back at his place because he’s obviously more comfortable there, knowing all points of entry and exit. Very much like his father in that respect, needing to know the lay of the land.  
  
He has lunch the same time every day at a little bistro, ending with a bowl of chocolate gelato and a shot of espresso. He flirts with his waitress but his contempt is obvious to Teva, if it were a scent he'd reek of it. And he spends a lot of time walking around the city, going to art exhibits and libraries; very cultured, this one is. And downright predictable, though she thinks he’d be loath to admit that.  
  
When she feels comfortable she slips inside his flat and snoops around, taking care not to move anything out of place because, like Logan, he can probably tell when his things have been tampered with, nor does she want to leave her scent all over. And so she’s waiting for him when he comes home alone that evening, sitting in his leather recliner and enjoying a bottle of mineral water. He actually gets within a few feet of her before he notices her.  
  
"You're good," he says as he eases his jacket off and places it carefully over the back of the couch. He’s tall, near six feet so that, sitting, she has to tilt her head back just a bit to look up at him. He’s dressed impeccably, in charcoal gray slacks and a vest with a subtle pinstripe, a button-down shirt in the palest pink with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. On his right arm she can see part of the black tribal design he has tattooed on his body.  
  
She drops a minute nod of acknowledgment.  
  
"Does my father know you're here?" he asks in that cultured, bored voice of his.  
  
Teva shifts, crossing her legs and twitching her foot. As his clothing speaks to his lifestyle, so does hers, as an X-Man: it’s a variation on her uniform, heavy combat boots, tight black cargo pants, short-sleeved black shirt and fingerless gloves. She’s armed as well, a gun under either arm, one on her right hip and another strapped to her left boot.  
  
"I will'nae lie and say this is'nae about him," she replies, her finger idly tracing designs on the arm of the recliner. "But no, he does'nae ken I'm here."  
  
His head cocks to the side and he regards her with vague amusement. "Why _are_ you here, then? Shall I call you Stepmother?"  
  
She bares her teeth at him, her own version of amusement. "I dinnae care what you call me, Daken. I only came here to get a feel of you, to try and understand you better." She drains the last of her water and twists the lid back on before setting the empty bottle on the table next to her. "To find out why you feel the need to make your father's life a living hell."  
  
"Don't act as if you don't know, as if he hasn't told you about me, about his past and his part in mine." There’s a subtle growl to his words, again not unlike the man who shares DNA with him. Whether or not he’s actually angry is a toss-up since he rarely shows his true emotions, and he’s locked down tight so that she can't get a true read from him. "I know he's fed you the lies he's tried to feed me."  
  
"Did you forget I'm a telempath? There's no truth to what you yourself have been told, by your master or anyone else."  
  
Daken snarls and she feels it then, feels the rage in him. It turns his handsome face ugly, robs it of the meticulously cultivated civility. "Of course you'd say that, say anything to protect him, he's your husband. And you'd have no love lost for me."  
  
"You think your father does'nae regret what happened?" When he opens his mouth to speak again, she talks over him. "Blah blah blah, you can keep spouting your sob story but that does'nae make it true. Do you think if you keep saying that, that it'll become the truth?"  
  
"Like you have any clue what I've been through."  
  
Teva doesn't stop the laughter from bubbling up. "Oh, go cry, emo kid. You are'nae the first to suffer and have a shitty life, and you will'nae be the last, I can guarantee you that. But no, you keep whining about being called a mongrel, yet you ignore the fact that the people who took you in gave you their love, gave you a home and a name. Until you destroyed that."  
  
The shock on his face very nearly makes her laugh again. "Telempath, you'd do well to no forget that."  
  
"You shouldn't be able to read me, get in my head."  
  
She tilts her head, gives him a nod of agreement. "Perhaps having a link to Logan allows me a certain degree of leeway when it comes to you. Believe me, I'd rather not be able to see any of your mind at all, it's... ugly."  
  
"Just as ugly as him." The words are all but spat out. "How can you love him, knowing what he's capable of? Knowing what he's done in the past, and could still do, to you, even!"  
  
She breathes in and gets to her feet, feeling the need to be mobile rather than stationary. "The difference is he's made penance for his sins, and he mourns every death at his hands." She turns to him, looks at him and not for the first time is struck by the similarities. Part of her wants to go to him and embrace him, give him a sense of peace he's not found in this lifetime, but he is unwilling. "Unlike you, Daken, who has reveled in the bloodshed, watched the light fade from men's eyes and gloried in the fact that it was you did the snuffing. No, Logan never enjoyed it, never craved it."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"You're weak, Daken, always have been."  
  
He moves quickly, reaching for her, and she ducks the blow aimed for her head, side-steps the first kick but not the second. His rage had clouded him for a few moments but he bounces back, hits her hard and fast so that she has to back up, try to block as many of his blows as possible. No matter how much training she's gotten in combat and martial arts, she doesn't have his natural agility or the sheer amount of years he's had to hone his skill; she may as well be moving in slow motion to his double-speed.  
  
They part finally as she catches her breath but suddenly she feels panic rising, clawing at her throat and making her lightheaded.  
  
Daken has a smirk on his face and, just as suddenly, the fear is replaced with arousal. "You may be a telempath," he all but purrs as he moves in close, "but I can manipulate you just as easily in my own way." He touches her, fingers on her cheek, brushing over her lips. "I'm everything you said, and more. I wonder how much it would piss dear Daddy off if I had his wife, hmm? Worse if you enjoyed it, I think, rape isn't nearly humiliating enough otherwise."  
  
Teva bites down on her tongue, hoping the pain will ground her, but whatever he’s doing to her is threatening to take over. "Victor Creed threatened to rape me once," she grounds out, "and I put a few bullets in his head."  
  
Daken chuckles. "But I doubt he could control you this way. And I won't hurt you and kill you in the process, that would rather defeat the purpose."  
  
Whatever he’s doing to her, it’s making it hard for her to think about anything other than letting him take her. That makes her angry under the arousal and manages to clear her head enough to get one of her guns. She twitches off the safety and is aiming before he grabs it and takes it away from her, moving in a blur of speed.  
  
"Uh-uh," he says, clouding her senses again and taking away her other weapons. Four guns end up on the counter behind them before he reaches for her again. "I bet you hate me right now, don't you?" he asks as his hand trails down her side to rest on her hip. Her body responds without her consent, instinctively moving into his touch, aided by the fact that his scent is very similar to his father's.  
  
There is something important in what he'd said, in his words, and she’s struggling to figure it out. She shudders in combined revulsion and need when he kisses her cheek and trails his mouth towards her neck.  
  
Clarity hits her a moment later. She brings her knee up between his legs and drops him, a look of shock on his face. "Did'nae expect me to be able to do that, did you? How about this?"  
  
"How -- how are you doing this?" he asks, even as he pushes himself back against the wall and draws his legs in, staring up at her in abject fear.  
  
"Never been afraid before, have you? Not since you were a lad," she says as she crouches down. She almost feels bad for doing it, but he's done too much to hurt the man she loves, and so many others, and she can't let that stand. "A while back I discovered a latent power, a secondary mutation. It allows me to mimic the powers of other mutants, people I have an empathy with, and it appears even though I hate you, I can use that to copy your ... what is this, pheromones?"  
  
She plucks the answer out of his head. "Ah, yes. I see you've been a busy boy, Daken. Or should I call you Akihiro?"  
  
"Don't you dare --"  
  
"Dare what? Call you by the name given to you by those who loved you?" She touches his leg and feels him tense and jerk under her hand. "Would they be proud, to know what you've done? What you've made of yourself, how you've dishonored them with every breath you take?  
  
“By the time your father found your mother, you’d been taken and were long gone. And then he was taken and manipulated by the same man, tortured and broken down and remade again and again and again.” Teva lets him go but remains crouched. “I wonder, Akihiro, if the reason you hate him so much is because he was just as much of a weak human being as you are.”  
  
“Yet you married him,” Daken spits back, breathing hard like he can’t get enough air.  
  
“Because, under all that, he’s a good man. Yes, he has a feral side, but when he’s taken over he does’nae use that as an excuse. But you, you let your baser instincts guide you and call yourself enlightened. You’re the Marquis de Sade, you’re Machiavelli with a bad haircut and outdated bodyart.” She laughs. “You’re a slightly higher class version of Sabretooth.”  
  
She allows herself to feel the smallest amount of pity, then, and makes sure it’s clear in her voice. “You’re a sad little boy playing at nihilism and hedonism as if it actually means a damn thing. You kill and you take and you never realize how pathetic you really are, how meaningless your existence actually is.”  
  
When she reaches for him again, he flinches, cringes away until his back hits the wall again. Her fingers touch his brow, very nearly the kind of touch she’d have given to her own child, if she was able to have one.  
  
Very nearly, because she’d never harm her own child, never find the need to destroy because any child of hers would have nothing but good in their life.  
  
She does what she knows Logan could never do.  
  
“It would have been better for the world if you’d died along with your mother.”


End file.
